Purebloods and Broomsticks
by faeryespell
Summary: A chance encounter between two Quidditch teams, a sure argument between old rivals, and a bad fusion of spells leads to Hermione’s worst nightmare: flying on a jinxed broom, and with the only person she could possibly hate more than that: Draco Malfoy.


**A/N**: So here's an interesting story for you... I don't know exactly how I came up with the idea for it, really... but I hope you like it! By the by, the setting's whatever you want, but for me I'm imagining this in their seventh year, AU of course. So... enjoy! And please review!

_Purebloods and Broomsticks_

Chapter One- Lift Off

Hermione Granger heard a chorus of thudding noises that resounded deafeningly in the empty common room, and, looking up from her thirty-inch-long essay on medieval charms, saw the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team troop in, clad in the magnificent house colors of scarlet and gold.

"Must you make such a ruckus every time?" asked Hermione curiously of no one in particular.

"Can't we be proud of ourselves?" demanded Dean Thomas. "We have to show the people the might of Gryffindor."

"It's becoming a mighty bother, if you ask me," said Hermione with a decisive shrug.

"Aw, don't be such a killjoy, Hermione," spoke up Ronald Weasley. "It's a beautiful day for Quidditch!" He inclined his flamed head towards one the room's frosted windows.

A slight draft strayed into the room and brushed past Hermione, and she shivered. "It's _freezing_, Ron. I can't believe you're all going out in this weather."

"So I suppose we can't ask you to join us, then," said Harry Potter with an amused grin, adjusting his scarf so that it draped loosely around his neck.

Hermione shook her head politely. "I'm sorry, Harry. I need to proofread this, anyway." She brushed the feather of her quill across the lengthy parchment before her.

"You were proofreading that two hours ago," Harry pointed out.

"It's one of my favorite pastimes," said Hermione in mock seriousness, "and you can't honestly deprive me of that, can you?"

"Well, if you put it _that _way..."

"Aw, come on, Hermione!" insisted Ron. "You know that essay isn't due until-"

"Tomorrow," interrupted Hermione brusquely.

Ron broke into a sheepish blush. "Well, then, I'll leave you to it," he said loudly. "Since you might need to jot down some extra notes for, uh, something..."

"Hermione, you haven't been out of the castle in _days_," remarked Ginny Weasley, throwing her brother an annoyed glance. "You're beginning to look a bit... peaked."

Hermione straightened herself, offended. "What d'you mean _peaked_? I've been outside!"

"The library doesn't count," said Ginny, lifting an eyebrow.

"Aw, come on, just leave her be," said Harry laughingly, ushering the team towards the portrait of the Fat Lady. "We'll see you later, Hermione."

Hermione grabbed her parchment and '_Charms of the First Ages_' and plunged both into her robe's pocket. "I'm coming!" she said haughtily. "Just let me gather my things and get my scarf!"

Ginny grinned triumphantly. "Ah, you'll thank me later."

"For what, insulting me, and then letting me watch a long, boring and otherwise useless game in the bitter cold of November?" Hermione snorted. "Oh, I'll be eternally grateful."

oOo

Gregory Goyle slammed his Beater's club into the Bludger at an angle too great: the deadly ball hurtled towards Draco Malfoy, who ducked, his head narrowly avoiding being pummeled into mush.

"WATCH IT!" hollered Draco angrily, steadying his broomstick. Not that it would matter if he was shoved off completely - the Placement Charm would right him onto his broomstick in a flash- but nevertheless, the prospect of falling hundreds of feet to possible death was not one he would care to entertain.

"Sorry!" yelled Goyle, looking panic-stricken. The second Bludger sped towards him, and he raised his club with obvious reluctance, eyeing Draco fearfully.

Draco snorted in annoyance -the gesture producing a cloud of condensation that nipped at his face- but pulled his broom higher into the air, and resumed scanning the misty skies for the Snitch. Something else caught his eye, however, not in the air, but on the floor of the Quidditch pitch. A flash of scarlet. Draco felt his displeasure increase tenfold.

"MONTAGUE!" he called out, and the Captain halted in mid-flight, frowning. "WE'VE GOT COMPANY!"

At once the practice was forgotten; Montague swerved his broom off-course and pelted towards the intruding group, and, like a pack of obedient, curious wolves, the rest of the Slytherin team followed.

"We booked the pitch for today, Potter!" snarled Montague, hovering just above the head of the Gryffindor team's Captain. "First come, first served."

The spectacled teenager regarded him coolly. "Last to arrive, last to leave," he countered. Draco rolled his eyes. "We're not leaving until we've practiced, Montague."

Ronald Weasley shifted uneasily next to Potter. Draco drew his broomstick closer to him. "Come for some inspiration, eh, Weasel?" he sneered, watching with satisfaction as Weasley's ears grew a peculiar shade of red.

"You wish, Malfoy!" he spluttered.

"What's there to inspire, _Malfoy_?" snapped Ginny Weasley, stepping forward. "Your team's almost as pathetic as your play."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You'd better shut your mouth, Gingersnap, before I do it for you."

"Go on then, I dare you," she hissed.

Draco smirked. "Ooh, valiant little pest, aren't you?" He shifted his gaze to Potter's composed face. "I see you've been rubbing off on your girlfriend, Scarhead. Think she's ready to take on the Dark Lord? Well, her family's so large, I expect the loss of her would hardly matter."

Potter took a threatening step forward, his mouth pursing into a thin line. "We're practicing..." he said through clenched teeth, "whether you like it... or not, Malfoy."

"My, that's awfully rude, Potter," whispered Draco, wagging a finger carelessly. "I can take points off for that..."

"And I can give them back!" said a sharp, familiar voice. Draco snapped his head up; Hermione Granger was approaching them fast, her arms curved around a thick book, as was usual.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Granger," called out Draco with a smirk. "I thought you were dead."

"Didn't know you cared about me so much, Malfoy," she replied smoothly.

Before Draco could counter, he suddenly saw from the corner of his eye the older Weasley draw out his wand. "Careful, Weasel," he drawled, "you wouldn't want another slug incident, would you? And don't you think we're too old for trivial little spells?"

"Exactly," declared Granger, making her way to Weasley's side, "so you know we're too old for these kind of arguments as well. Just let the team play against yours, Malfoy, what's the problem with that? Honestly, I don't understand how you can achieve a better game performance if you practice by yourselves."

"Don't try to be smart, Mudblood," spat Montague. "We're not playing against a team of Muggleborn losers."

"Says the Captain whose team lost the past three matches," remarked Potter smugly. "I wouldn't be so quick to judge if I were you, Montague."

"And I wouldn't be so quick to insult, Potter," warned Draco.

"Ah, can I curse the prick already?" whined Weasley, pointing his wand directly at Draco's chest. "We're wasting precious practice time arguing with him."

In a flash, Draco whipped out his own wand. "My thoughts exactly," he hissed, but before he could voice a curse, he heard Granger scream her own.

oOo

Malfoy wrenched his jet-black broomstick upwards; the curse missed him, much to Hermione's annoyance, and instead hit the tail of his broomstick with a splatter of shimmering dust. And the seconds that followed went by too quickly for Hermione to register.

The broom shook violently, almost to the point of hurling Malfoy off completely -who for some unintelligible reason did not consider getting off himself before that happened- and then suddenly swerved to the side, causing the Slytherin team members to scatter. Hermione was suddenly reminded of their first year, when Harry's old Nimbus Two Thousand was jinxed into the same odd behavior.

As Malfoy's broom gave a particularly large leap, he screamed in terror.

"Hermione, what did you say?" demanded Harry in both alarm and amusement.

"It was a just a blasting curse!" she cried. "Another spell must be on the broom, or it wouldn't be acting like this!"

Suddenly she felt her wand grow strangely warm, and then vibrate. At the same time, Malfoy's broom froze, and then after a split-second, shot at a dangerous speed in Hermione's direction. She shrieked, and before she knew it, she was lifted off her feet, and tossed like a rag doll onto Malfoy's broom. To her horror, she saw a sea of green below her rush past as the broom continued to move, and she clung to the its impossibly small handle with much difficulty and desperation. The icy air smacked against her face painfully, whipping her hair back hard.

"MALFOY, STOP THIS BROOM!" she bellowed hysterically at the platinum head above her own.

"I CAN'T!" he roared. "HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET ON?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" she screamed, and screamed again as the broom jerked upwards. Without thinking, she grabbed the hood of Malfoy's green robes.

"HERMIONE!" cried a faraway voice; she looked about her wildly, and saw Harry, Ron and Ginny behind them, on their own broomsticks.

Hermione opened her mouth to scream yet again when all of her friends pointed into the air. "WATCH OUT!" they cried.

Malfoy let out a long yell, and Hermione twisted her head: one of the Quidditch pitch's stands was approaching at a startling rate, growing larger and larger by the second, but Malfoy's broom continued on. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and shrieked.

"HERMIONE, HOLD ON!" shouted Harry, and then suddenly Hermione felt a hard blow on her buttocks; both she and Malfoy released identical screams of shock and terror as the broom veered fast to one side. She burst her eyes open, and saw nothing but gray skies before her. She whirled her head around; the Quidditch pitch was far behind them now, the Hogwarts castle itself a tiny speck in the distance.

"HERMIONE, TRY AND SIT UP!" cried Ginny.

"I CAN'T!" she wailed, despite the pain the broom's handle was thrusting against her torso. "I MIGHT FALL!" She looked dizzily at the scene below, a racing blur of foliage.

"WE WON'T LET YOU!" hollered Harry.

"NO, I'M SCARED!" cried Hermione, feeling tears prickle her eyes that was not because of the biting wind.

"IT'S ALRIGHT!" yelled Ron. "OI, FERRET! HELP HER UP!"

"I'M NOT TOUCHING THAT MUDBLOOD!" shot back Malfoy, glancing over his shoulder to look briefly at Hermione.

"SHE'S NOT A MUDBLOOD, AND YOU'D BETTER, BEFORE I HEX YOU!"

"OH, _BRILLIANT_ IDEA, WEASLEY! BLOW US UP INTO A MILLION SMITHEREENS WHILE YOU'RE AT IT!"

"STOP IT!" cried Hermione desperately. "HARRY, RON, I'LL GET UP IF YOU HELP ME!"

It took a good ten minutes, a number of shrieks from Hermione and a bout of useless arguments from Ron, but Hermione was finally able to sit with the broom handle between her legs, her arms outstretched and held steady on either side by her friends.

"HOW ARE WE GOING TO STOP THE BROOM?" demanded Ginny, on Harry's tail.

"Malfoy, what spell did you put on your broom?" asked Hermione loudly in his ear, twisting her ankles together tightly and trying to ignore the rising nausea in her throat.

"A Placement Charm!" he obediently answered. "I always do for Quidditch practice, in case I fall!"

"That's cheating!" she exclaimed, and heard him snort.

"Shows how little you know about flying, Granger!"

"HARRY, DO _YOU _PUT A PLACEMENT CHARM ON YOUR BROOM?" she cried, and Harry shook his head firmly, but Ron, when she looked at him, did not meet her gaze. "OH, I CANNOT _BELIEVE _THIS! I PUT UP WITH YOUR CONSTANT BRAGGING, RONALD, ABOUT HOW YOU DID THIS STUNT AND THAT STUNT, WHEN ALL THE WHILE YOU'RE GLUED TO YOUR BROOMSTICK WHATEVER YOU DO!" She let out a loud humph that disappeared with the sharp wind, and a sudden thought occurred to her. "I wonder if Viktor uses that Charm..."

"NO, HE DOESN'T," yelled Ron, apparently catching her words, and at once looking regretful.

Hermione groaned in panicked exasperation. "WELL, THE SPELL COMBINED BADLY WITH MY CURSE, AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO REVERSE IT!"

"FUCK, GRANGER, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE A KNOW-IT-ALL!" barked Malfoy.

Hermione stared at the back of Malfoy's head in momentary shock: she had never heard him curse so vehemently before. She recovered with a shake of her head. "I DON'T KNOW _EVERYTHING_, MALFOY!"

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" he snapped.

"HEY, IF YOU HAD JUST LET THE GRYFFINDORS PLAY AGAINST YOU, NONE OF THIS WOULD'VE HAPPENED!" retaliated Hermione.

"WE BOOKED THE PITCH!"

"YOU DO KNOW," shrieked Ginny suddenly, "YOU'RE STILL GOING AT TOP SPEED TO MERLIN-KNOWS-WHERE, RIGHT?"

"GINNY!" yelled Harry, twisting his head to look at her. "GO BACK AND GET HELP!"

Hermione dared to look over her shoulder, and saw Ginny nod and swerve her broom into a full turn. Suddenly, Malfoy's broom gave a violent shudder, and Hermione automatically screamed and flung her arms around the first thing in sight: Malfoy.

"LET GO OF ME, MUDBLOOD!" he barked. "LET - AAAAAAH!"

The broom began to sway wildly from side to side, at one point almost colliding with Ron's. A great lump of vomit welled in Hermione's throat, and she swallowed frantically and sickeningly, pressing her lips against Malfoy's hood to stop herself from opening her mouth. And then, with mighty force, the broom slammed into Harry's, and Hermione did scream.

oOo

Draco had found it reassuring, if not annoying, that Potter and the Weasels had tagged along, and thus bringing him into a vulnerable position in which he was his own team - _damn those ninnies_, he had immediately thought of Crabbe and Goyle, wondering how his friendship with the two was not sincere enough, or important enough, to have them abandon him completely. So when Potter was violently shoved about a hundred meters off-course, Draco couldn't help but feel terrified at the prospect of being alone on a rogue broom. Well, there was Granger, so stubbornly and desperately clinging to his waist like a vice. As much as he didn't care to admit it, the thought of someone holding him was comforting. At once, Draco dismissed the feeling.

_Mudblood. _

With his free hand he clenched one of Granger's own, and attempted to pry her fingers into releasing their hold on him. The attempt sorely failed, however, when the broom performed a fast veer again.

He screamed as they smacked hard into Weasley.

"RON!" shrieked Granger, and Draco wildly whipped his head around: Weasley's broom was still fast on its course, but it was now rapidly spinning; Draco could just make out its owner's green face.

Suddenly the broom swerved to the other side, narrowly missing a second collision with Potter. As if determined to bring down its competitors, the broom veered towards Weasley's yet again, which continued to spin like a top.

_SLAM!_

Draco winced as pain seared through this entire body. Then a whooshing sound met his ears that he knew at once was not the rushing wind; "RON!" cried both Granger and Potter, and Draco automatically searched for the redhead, but he was nowhere to be seen. Draco looked down, at the forest over which they were currently and rapidly passing. Had the Weasel crashed there...?

"HELP HIM, HARRY!" screeched Granger hysterically.

"WILL YOU BE OKAY?" Potter cried.

"YES!"

"ARE YOU SURE?"

"JUST GO HARRY! I'LL BE FINE!"

"HERMIONE-!"

"SOD OFF ALREADY, POTTER!" yelled Draco in panicked frustration.

His rival performed a tight, three-sixty-degree turn. Just then, the slapping of the cold air against his face seemed to abate slightly, the whistling in his ears softened. With a sigh of relief, he realized that the broom had slowed down.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING?" shouted Granger in an alarmed tone. "ARE WE STOPPING?"

"You can stop screaming, Granger!" snapped Draco. "No, it doesn't look like we're stopping. We're still going faster than the usual speed, but not as fast as before. So you can LET GO OF ME."

Silence answered him, but he could distinctly make out quick, raspy breathing. And then he realized with a jolt that his own breathing was short, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. Now that the broom seemed calm, almost friendly, however, he felt his muscles relax. He turned to look at Granger, whose arms were still wrapped around his waist. He plucked at her fingers, but to no avail. Finally wearying of the task, he decided to examine their surrounding. Neither Potter nor the Weasel were in sight.

"Well," he muttered irritably, "looks like it's just you and me, Granger."

oOo

**A/N**: Don't worry, there's actual romance in the story... this is just the beginning! So what d'you think of it? Please be nice!


End file.
